" he insinuated, "can you be ready?"

The schoolma'am looked up at him irresolutely, drew a long breath and
then laughed. "Oh, ten minutes will do," she surrendered. "I shall
put my new dress in a box, and go just as I am. Do you _always_ get
your own way, Mr. Davidson?"

"Always," he lied convincingly over his shoulder, and jumped off the
porch without bothering to use the steps.

She was waiting when he led the little gray up to the house, and she
came down the steps with a large, flat, pasteboard box in her arms.

"Don't get off," she commanded. "I can mount alone--and you'll have to
carry the box. It's going to be awkward, but you _would_ have me go."

Weary took the box and prudently remained in the saddle. Glory, having
the man he did for master, was unused to the flutter of women's skirts
so close, and rolled his eyes till the whites showed all round.
Moreover, he was not satisfied with that big, white thing in Weary's
arms.

He stood quite still, however, until the schoolma'am was settled to her
liking in the saddle, and had tucked her skirt down over the toe of her
right foot. He watched the proceeding with much interest--as did
Weary--and then walked sedately from the yard, through the pebbly creek
and up the slope beyond. He heard Weary give a sigh of relief at his
docility, and straightway thrust his nose between his white front feet,
and proceeded to carry out certain little plans of his own. Weary,
taken by surprise and encumbered by the box, could not argue the point;
he could only, in range parlance, "hang and rattle."

"Oh," cried Miss Satterly, "if he's going to act like that, give me the
box."

Weary would like to have done so, but already he was half way to the
gate, and his coat was standing straight out behind to prove the speed
of his flight. He could not even look back. He just hung tight to the
box and rode.

The little gray was no racer, but his wind was good; and with urging he
kept the fleeing Glory in sight for a mile or so. Then, horse and
rider were briefly silhouetted against the sunset as they topped a
distant hill, and after that the schoolma'am rode by faith.

At the gate which led into the big Flying U field she overtook them.
Glory, placid as a sheep, was nibbling a frayed end of the rope which
held the gate shut, and Weary, the big box balanced in front of him
across the saddle, was smoking a cigarette.

"Well," greeted Miss Satterly breathlessly, and rather